"She’s crying," her son says to her, and she looks at him inquisitively before following his eyes out across the gently swaying grass to discover the fleeing figure of the girl they’d found and saved from death in the meadow. His entire face is etched with concern and his body quivers with the desire to follow her, losing the battle even before the Lady manages a sigh at having to go deal with the daughter she never wanted. Rikyn is ahead of her several paces, cantering with his long, awkward foal’s legs while she trots and easily keeps time with him, allowing the boy to take the role of stopping the girl; females were tedious, a reason she had been thankful for the gender of her son, and a reason (aside from the most obvious blight of her hybrid breeding) she had not wanted to spare the little white dove.

Rikyn had insisted, with those young and innocent eyes, and she had conceded. While it went against her nature to spare the child and it would cost her much in the face of her peers if confronted about her presence here (for she had no schemes, no plans for the girl; she only knew that fate had delivered her with purpose and that it was a good lesson for her boy to witness the torment of a winged wretch), she allowed the child to stay and even fed her to keep her growing and strong, riding the tasks with the assumption that, in some way, it would reward her to have not smashed the little babe where she had lain near death.

"Aithniel!" her son’s voice calls as soon as he’s caught up enough to the girl to be within earshot, his cloven hooves still beating after her, "Aith!"

@[Aithniel]

Illynx

AITHNIEL

Aithniel hated the fact that she was crying. She hated the tears. She hated the weakness. She that she was unable to stand and listen to that creep, Zikar, and defend herself with rationality and words. Why? Because she was afraid that he just might be right. Did her wings have to go? Was this just the beginning of turning into the monsters he had been talking about? Her chest ached in a strange way, feeling attached to her body as it was but not wanting to disappoint Rikyn.

So, she ran, not knowing where or why, but she knew she needed to talk to Illynx. Maybe... hopefully... this creep was just being a creep. Aithniel prayed that Illynx would tell her that she was fine the way she was, that her wings could stay, and that maybe, one day, her wings could even be an asset. But, she knew her prayers would fall on dead ears. What god was out there for a freak like her? Not even the God of Time paid her any mind.

Rikyn's voice broke through the fearful fog, and she looked up, hitching in a deep breath as he ran after. She slowed to a stop, knowing that she could trust Rikyn and not wanting to be alone. Aithniel hitched in a few breaths, oxygen running short between sobs and sprinting. Finally, she smashed her head into his shoulder with the need to know that he was there and there for her. The hybrid gasped in a breath.

"He... he.. -hic- hee said that I was going to be a monster..." she moaned. "That my wings nee-eed to be c-cut off!" The wailing noise from her throat was small and pathetic, and when she finally saw Illynx, her heart froze. Aithniel pulled away from her brother and tried to be brave, but the twisted face she wore was evidence of the fact that the littlest pin drop would send her into insecure pieces again.

"I... Am I am monster?" she asked the mare. "Do... do I need to have my w-wings removed?"

As if his words hold a magical pull, the girl stops in her earthbound flight across the valley, turning abruptly from her savage pace to fall a sobbing mess into his slender shoulder. Her son, sweet as she might have been if life had not soured her soul so soon, curves his neck across her and presses himself into her trembling form, not sure why it is that she is so shaken but feeling a desperation to still her fears that reads from his heart out into his face that watches her with wide, concerned eyes.

Illynx watches with judgment and harshness lined in her mask, disliking the display of emotions that speak volumes of the uncouth and wild nature of the child she has spared. While she generally does not dwell on the assumption that all winged things are primitive animals (for it is an understatement of the enemies prowess, dangerous as sleeping with a jar of lit explosives beneath ones head), she does assume that their intellect is beneath even the most simple minded of her brethren, and that the girl squalls and carries on for all the world to see is a despicable show of her inferior breeding. The golden bitch lifts her head high and with the grace of her status as she slips towards the pair of children interlocked in the embraces of comfort, a cold wind riding into the balmy aura of their spring.

Her dark rimmed ears lift and catch some of the words that are garbled into her son’s shoulder, the prince fidgeting with her mane in an attempt to ease her worries even as he wears a face that shows the horror of what she has finally discovered. Her boy has been told of the threat of his sister time and again by his dam, even allowed to join her during a meeting of her clandestine companions to further instill her way of thinking into his young, malleable mind, but love is a powerful force that cannot be altered or swayed by any mortal probing, and he loves the little orphan fiercely as she loves her true child. It is a circle that she might break today, she thinks with a smile on her lips, lined with daggers and jagged ice as she meets his flickering, worried eyes of gold and the girl notices her presence.

The change that crosses the snow and gold filly at the realization that she is not alone with her trusted brother is one that earns her points from the cold natured woman; the child is not stupid, despite the Lady’s efforts to exclude her from her private lessons with Rikyn, and that she is astute enough to know that weakness is not tolerated from her surrogate dam is enough to lesson the hardness of Illynx’s heart some. Her screwed up face is also endearing in its own ways, the hormone’s of the mare’s body working against her in that she had been feeding the child and had thus developed some minute form of a bond with her during their time together, a response that even her hatred could not restrain.

Rikyn looks at her alongside his sister, standing and looking deflated and afraid for the young heart of his friend and life’s comrade as the question spills from her lips, ragged and full of the trepidation that lines her features. Illynx takes in the scene with her usual air of nonchalance, though her heart beats hard in her chest and her mind reels through all her options and available answers. She could lie to spare the girl the agony of the truth for the time, only to have to tell her later, or she could answer truthfully. Of the truth, none of the answers were without sharp edges, some designed to kill and others to only prick the skin and bring to light the bright blood beneath.

She settles on a choice, her voice crisp and calm as it cuts through the warm, summer air.

"You are a blight of nature, the child of animal and unicorn, known by the common word of hybrid," her son winces beneath the words, stepping towards Aithniel as if he can guard her with his body while his mother’s commanding tone continues on with her cold, ruthless rhetoric, "by the old laws, you should have died in the meadow where we found you, for the sins of your parents and their parents who bred with birds to create you." She pauses for a moment, Rikyn’s eyes pinned on her face with a pleading expression, fearing that Aithniel will leave him and the family that they had made together, fearing that his mother will not lesson the harshness of her words to spare some of the poor girl’s dignity; his expression evolves into one of amazement as her words continue. "Removing your wings will not change the truth that will forever lie in your blood. It is up to you to decide what use they serve to you, if any, and whether or not you will keep them."

"You are who you are, Aithniel, and no amount of tears or pain will change what fate delivered you – but you are alive, kept safe by the woman who should have destroyed you. These are gifts in and of themselves, are they not, that we saw a purpose to your life, that you have one?" her smile is like flint as it cracks through the still expression of her mask, "Be a good girl, mind your place beneath the others, and do not let them dictate your heart so easily, lest you prove their theories that you are but an animal trapped in a sentient guise… a monster, as you said." She takes a moment to look at her son, who is standing with his mouth agape in wonder that his dam chose the softer route in dealing with his sibling rather than the harsher, more cruel stories she had given him; it is all in the Lady’s favor, of course, for she knows that it is better to have friends than enemies and that her son will learn well from watching her play her nefarious little games.

Returning her golden stare to the girl, she finishes what she has to say with more warmth to her tone. "They will never love you, of course, but there is a secret to such truths that I learned very young," she says, leaning in closer to the girl after taking a few long, elegant steps closer to her foals, her lips murmuring her words so that only the children might hear, "you don’t need their love to be worthy. They cannot bring you suffering if you do not care what they feel for you."

Illynx

AITHNIEL

Aithniel felt a painful twist in her chest when Illynx's first words fell on her childish ears, and she barely managed to strangle a sob by swallowing. A blight? A hybrid is a blight on nature? So, she was a monster after all. She summoned every ounce of courage not to run away right then, far away from all of this talk of removing her wings and calling her very nature of being unfortunate. The babe barely felt Rikyn move closer, barely felt his worth. She felt so cold inside. The following words did not hurt nearly as much. Monsters did deserve death - that was only natural.

The words that followed, however, surprised and empowered the child, and she lifted her eyes again with a new found confidence. Illynx did save her and that was a gift. Having Rikyn to grow up with was a gift. She had saved Aithniel even though she should not have and brought her to a home at her own risk. Until this moment, Aithniel had not realized the sacrifice the golden mare had made, and suddenly, her actions did not seem so bad. She would have to remember to thank her one day for everything that she could not even express right now.

Illynx's smile gave her confidence, but she was also wary of that look. How few times had she seen it worn on her pretty face? She should smile more... The expression made her look pretty and almost human. The golden mare was right. She should not have let Zikar so easily control her emotions and heart with his callous words, and she should not have let her fear rule her so strongly that she ran away, consumed by her tears. Aithniel knew that she was not a monster, and she knew that she could be someone important. All she had to do was prove it to everyone else too.

She did not need their love. The wisdom Illynx imparted resonated with her soul, and she recognized it to be true. If she simply did not care for what they said, then they could never hurt her again. Aithniel looked up at her with deepened respect and gently touched her face to the mare's leg, a sign of affection she rarely gave. "I understand," she said quietly, taking a deep breath. "I may not be the same as everyone else, and I may not be natural. But, I feel that I can do something good. I won't let them hurt me anymore."

Devastation is an emotion she has learned common place among the undesirables who have found their lodgings in the snow during her time in the Basin, one that she reads on the face of the young girl brought home from the Meadow as the acidic words based around her very being leech into the air. It is a cruel fact of the world that Illynx accepts readily and has no problem explaining; not a single flinch or ripple of remorse makes it onto her features, despite how deeply the words surely wound, because it is all a necessary part of life if Aithniel is to survive here. Unlike Destry, who had been unwanted at her birth and undesirable after by any but her useless, whore parents, the little snow and gold child had been selected for residence rather than deposited, and it made all the difference for her in regards to her status – she was left to her own devices, wandering with no escort, where Destry had spent not a moment alone until she had finally managed to escape their clutches. Perhaps the golden bitch will share this story with her, someday, of another girl who suffered the sins of her parents and had not a soul to love her at all.

But, as the words of the Lady lighten in their nature, infusing the dark, bitter truth with what sugar she could find in the moment, she watches the desolate light begin to shine with a more ruddy, hopeful glow in the girl’s face, and behind glittering eyes and a floating smile, she feels the surge of verbal prowess knit its way through her psyche, adding additional glimmer to her façade as the pale hybrid reaches out to touch her leg in a gesture Illynx can only mark as one of thanks.

Her little voice, not so different from the other girls of the mountain, could slip in past shut lids and be accepted to be a whole child, one uncursed; but Illynx can see her. The words she says are wise enough for a babe and the Lady nods approvingly for a moment, still wearing that sweet nurturing smile that gave Rikyn the creeps – mostly because he knew his momma was only truly beautiful when there was a game a foot or she was winning some unseen, illusive contest that evaded his understanding. Poor Aithniel hadn’t had enough time or exposure to the terrible woman to know as much of her.

Still, the boy remains silent, battling his trepidation to replace it with a look that echoes the peace he feels as his sister stills her crying and eases into the normalcy of words, the young prince clinging to the notion that, surely, his mother would not allow harm to come to Aithniel so long as he still loved her.

He watches as his mother swallows up the one weeping girl in an embrace in reaction to her gentle touch of thanks, golden eyes wide in wonder at what sort of game his dam played at – acting like she felt anything less than contempt for the girl he’d convinced her to spare was unusual, but he supposed that even his cruel mother might be tempted away from her unkindness by the tears of a girl she had kept alive. "Good girl," she croons with false affection.

Rikyn, unused to seeing his mother in such a light as well as feeling some surges of jealousy rise through him at the sight of the woman holding another child (and Aithniel being appreciated by someone other than him), clears his throat awkwardly and shuffles his hooves beneath him, eyeing his sister as he tries to find words to fit the situation and provide some comfort as his dam had – or so Illynx thinks. "I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner to protect you," he says, and the golden wench narrows her golden eyes and steps away from Aithniel, brushing the top of her mane with dark lips in the gesture, watching her son now with rapt focus and wondering what all he will give away in this confession of guilt, hoping it is none of her guarded secrets, "I’ve known for a while now, about your wings..." His voice trails away, eyes peering at his sibling despite the heavy gaze of his mother, the woman who has implanted the notions of hatred into his heart, ones that he sees some truth in but has a hard time fully grasping because of his wonderful Thistle Sister; there is so much more he wants to say, but cannot. He knows the punishment for divulging that which he has been forbidden to speak of.

His tail twitches behind him and he steps closer to nudge at her face with his nose (assuming she hasn’t assaulted him by now or fled, once more, out into the wilderness), apology etched into every pore of his innocent face for having failed her. "I think you should keep them," he says quickly, speaking, of course, of her wings, the sound of a scoff rising from the golden woman who watches them, "being different isn’t so bad, and I still think you’re pretty regardless."

His smile suddenly becomes impish, finding that he doesn’t entirely believe what he says. Sure, she’s pretty – but the distraction of those things on her shoulders and the dramatic events that had caused this conversation to come into play worked together with the stories of his mother to make him decide that, yes, she certainly was less attractive due to her blemishes. However, he had seen the birds in the skies, and he had watched them dive and sweep over the tall, looming peaks of the mountain with little more than a playful song; no boy in Loorien could watch such a fanciful delight and look on someone like Aithniel with anything less than wonder and slight envy that she might have that freedom one day.

He turns his eyes to his dam as her voice rises out over his own, her golden eyes keen and having caught the hidden hesitation in that rogue’s grin, her own smile broad and pleased with the adept mind of her learning son. "Kyst will teach you to use them when the time comes, if you decide this is your path," she says, some reservation holding in her heart that she so changes the foundations of her life for a single child – but the hope that she will become a tool, a powerful weapon that is loyal to the unicorns and subservient to their might… it lures her words onward, "or I can find someone else, if you’d prefer a pegasus tutor; I will admit, however, that few fly with as much agility as a Griffon from my experience."

Illynx